


Diplomacy

by thethinkingfruit



Series: Petunia of Hoshido [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Birthrights Route, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 17:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10972200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethinkingfruit/pseuds/thethinkingfruit
Summary: Petunia always found that fighting an opponent on the battlefield was always easier than trying to talk with her comrades--but one new companion in particular has caught her eye.





	Diplomacy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! This story is featuring my Birthrights MU, Petunia. Feel free to check out her small tag I've got going here!
> 
> I've been sitting on this for a while, and have been meaning to post it. I'm slowly working on the second part as I go, and am considering posting a similar sort of story based off of the support conversations. While I'm glad they have support conversations for characters, I like fleshing out and personalizing them to the characters I pick. So, bare with me! This should have 4 parts--one for each support conversation--but I might have to add a little extra if I see it necessary.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

          Petunia found Shura to be peculiar. It was hard for her to articulate, and as the company grew closer to their goal, Petunia found it difficult to find someone to talk to about it as well. Azura was growing more distant and melancholy by the day, and Petunia’s siblings were understandably busy with parts of their army, or learning new skills to better the cause. Even Petunia’s vassals were busy, with Jakob and Felicia trying to manage the castle and Silas taking his role as Petunia’s temporary captain of the guard extremely seriously. The lack of communication made Petunia’s puzzlement all the more frustrating.

          That was why, after dinner, Petunia slipped from the mess hall to go train in the arena. Combat—even against training dummies—got the blood pumping and would hopefully help her think. Petunia always found problems that she could hit easier than those she had to muddle over. She picked up a training sword from her room and headed towards the small, but substantial training ground that everyone had teasingly dubbed the Coliseum. The waxing moon hung low in the sky, lighting her way just enough to not need a torch.

          Out of the corner of Petunia’s eye, she saw something move on the end of the peach orchard. It moved quickly, with purpose, making Petunia slow, and finally stop her walk completely. The shadow ducked behind a tree and practically vanished—until she squinted hard and could see a faint outline sitting beneath the tree.

          Petunia guessed that it was Kaze. Her ever-loyal bodyguard never strayed too far from her if he could help it. She started towards the orchard to call out to him. _Perhaps,_ she thought, _he’s willing to spar._

          But as she drew nearer to the form’s hiding place, something felt off. It was not Kaze. By now, seeing her approach, he would have stepped from the shadows to greet her. In a brief moment of horror, she wondered if it was Kaze’s twin, Saizo. Petunia and he still had a slightly rocky relationship, and Petunia was still not completely certain whether he still kept tabs on her or not. Still, when she crept closer, the figure had a different look than Saizo did. It occurred to Petunia that there was no way that her eldest brother’s vassal would have let himself be seen.

          Petunia finally got close enough to see who it was, and spied messy graying hair turning the color of untouched snow in the soft moonlight. Shura sat with a meager sized helping of beans, ricked, and pickled daikon, eating it by himself. He seemed unaware that Petunia was watching him. Petunia’s sense of curiosity ebbed away the longer she stood there, watching. Soon it melted into a displaced, but familiar sense of pity. Before Petunia could stop herself, she decided to approach him. When she was close enough, she called out.

          “Ah. So, this is where you’ve been hiding.” Petunia tried to sound teasing, but it came off as harsh, and cold. She wanted to bite back her words but she had already said something, so it was too late. Shura calmly looked up. Petunia stopped a few feet away from him and watched him finish the last bit of rice in his dish. He waited a moment longer before he nodded in greeting.

          Gruff, he said, “Lady Petunia.”

          Petunia, silently, wracked her brain for something to continue the conversation. She had not thought this far—or had a plan in general. The only reason she had approached him had been a case of momentary mistaken identity, and her foolishness. Still, Petunia didn’t back down easily. She stabbed the training sword into the ground between them and sat down next to it.

          Shura seemed surprised, but only for a moment. Petunia pretended she hadn’t seen it and attempted again at conversation. She grabbed a fallen peach, felt whether it was ripe, and tossed it up. She caught it with her other hand and offered it to him.

          “Why are you way out here?” asked Petunia. “You know that everyone else eats in the mess hall, right? You should come over and sup with us sometime.”

          Shura waved his hand, passing up on the peach.

          “I’m fine here, thank you,” Shura replied. Petunia shrugged and rubbed the peach on her sleeve. “I appreciate your graciousness in allowing me to travel with you, milady. But as a former outlaw, I don’t think I am fit to dine at your table.”

          Petunia arched and eyebrow and bit the peach. The juice ran down the corner of her mouth and dripped off her chin. With a mouthful of fruit, she snorted, “What? Of course you’re fit to do so.” She swallowed. “And I’m sure the others would agree.”

          Petunia noticed a ghost of a smile, and then it disappeared.

          “That’s very kind of you.” He shifted his focus back to eating. “Regardless, I would prefer to remain alone.”

          Petunia paused before she learned forward. “Why?” The idea was difficult to grasp for her. Living with few people to interact with for most of her life, Petunia was lonely. Even as the army grew, those she had ties with were too busy for her, so Petunia could only stare and think, _Why, in the gods’ names, would someone want to be alone?_

          “It’s best that I remain in the shadows as much as possible.” He finished the rest of his picked daikon, avoiding eye contact.

          Petunia glanced up at the peach tree he nestled under, then back at him. “In the shadows? What are you talking about?” At the same time she thought, _Literally? Figuratively? Why are people so cryptic? Then again, I’m not very clear myself sometimes…_

          By some grace of the gods, Shura understood. He folded his hands across his lap and continued his original train of thought, adding, “My name is not unknown. Many people recognize me as an outlaw. If it became widely known I was part of your group, it would damage your good name.”

          Petunia admittedly had not thought of it. She wondered if it was actually an issue, or if Shura was just being difficult. She glanced back at the mess hall, its warm lights glowing in the distance. It looked lively, compared to the peach orchard.

          “Even if the mess hall is not exactly public, it is still large, and rumors spread. A soldier may write their family, who would tell their village, and so on.”

          Petunia had not thought of that, either. Her pause was too long.

          “I don’t think—”

          “You can’t deny that the possibility exists, can you?”

          Petunia couldn’t, but she found it silly. _The past,_ she thought, _can be a heavy thing._ Her own choices weighed heavily on her conscious. There were large doses of regret and sorrow, but allowing Shura to join was not one of them. She just wasn’t sure how to voice them without coming off as intrusive.

          Shura kept speaking when she made no move to answer him, assuming her silence meant confirmation.

          “I have no intention of allowing my presence to hurt your cause. Please try to understand.”

          Now it just felt like Shura was asking Petunia to leave. Petunia was grasping at straws for conversation. “Shura…”

          Shura looked away, engrossing himself with his now empty dish. Then he actually waved her away.

          “Now, go rejoin your people. I’m sure they are missing you.”

          Petunia glanced once again at the mess hall. The masses still resided there, probably eating and talking amongst themselves. It looked like they had not even noticed she had slipped away. A knot formed in her stomach. Petunia rose and grabbed her training sword.

          “A-All right,” she said, sounding uncertain. “I will. Good day.”

          “Good day, milady.”

          Petunia quickly departed from the orchard, face flushing with anger (and annoyance? Maybe even disappointment). In one hand she clutched the hilt of her sword. In the other sat the peach she took a bite from. She devoured the peach on the way to the arena, spitting the pit into the grass right outside the stone archway leading into the coliseum.

          Petunia wished that she were better with words. The fighting made sense to her. She could take a sword and strike down her enemies with precision. Even with a practice sword and sticky hands, she could make a difference. She could change the fate of herself, and others.

          This was a battle she didn’t know how to fight.

          Petuna struck down training dummy after training dummy in her fury, whispering to herself, “He’s wrong.”

          The sword shattered the training dummy. The whiplash shot through her arms and she hissed, shaking her head. Rubbing her arms, she paused, and looked at the empty arena.

          “He’s wrong!” she said again, louder.

          Then, she had an idea.

_This,_ Petunia decided, running her palm over the flat part of the training sword, _will be my first diplomatic mission. I need to practice._

          She would have to convince him. After all, it wouldn’t be appropriate to smack him into submission.


End file.
